Blogging Away Debt

I keep learning something new about grief. It’s not just mine I’m carrying right now…It’s dad’s too.

I’m the caretaker. So most days, I’m not just working through my own loss. I’m walking through his. Both at the same time. That’s a heavier load than I expected, if I’m honest. It’s hard.

GriefShare helps.

Dad is now attending 3 weekly sessions of GriefShare. Some weeks it helps more than others. Some weeks he just sits in the car after, not talking. Some weeks he comes home, full of things he wants to share. But he goes, and it’s helping him. And it’s giving me a break from the heavy. Grief isn’t something you’re supposed to do alone, but it’s also very personal.

He’s antsy to get out of the house most days.

He wants to move. Go somewhere. Do something. Anything, really. I understand it. Staying still means sitting with the quiet, and seeing the place where mom no longer lies or the decorations she chose. Looking at the pictures of her.

But coming back after an outing… that’s the hardest part. Walking back through that front door knowing she’s not here. Every single time. I see it on his face before we even park the car.

Dividing the ‘things’.

We had the family meeting.

The one about mom’s things. About what happens to it all now.

Dad said something that stuck with me. He said he’s ready for things to go. Just… ready. And I don’t think that’s about the stuff at all. I think that’s his grief talking. Letting go of objects feels a little like letting go of more loss, and some days he’s ready for that, and some days he’s not.

Now it’s a conversation every single day. What’s he really ready to release. What should stay a while longer. We’re not rushing it.

Right now we’re dividing things up based on what means something. The nostalgia. The memory attached. Not the dollar value. Not yet.

But some things do need real numbers put to them. A few pieces need to be appraised properly before we can even talk about dividing them fairly. That part is slower. More formal. It doesn’t fit as easily into a family sitting around a table over lunch on a Saturday afternoon.

Financial oversight.

I’m helping dad close accounts. And find ones we didn’t know existed. We are consolidating and documenting. Updating to avoid taxes and probate as much as we can. And I’ve got 4 years of their tax returns to file.

This has been its own kind of work. Some accounts needed closing outright. Others… we found accounts none of us knew he and mom had. That happens more than people think. It means slow, careful digging. Patience. Paperwork.

And through every bit of it, I’ve made sure my siblings see what I see. Every account. Every dollar. Every decision. Being transparent with them matters more to me than being fast. This is too important to let trust get shaky over money.

Grieving through it all, but maybe a bit hopeful too.

The tears show up at different times. For different reasons.

Sometimes it’s a bill with mom’s name still on it. Sometimes it’s dad’s face after GriefShare. Sometimes it’s nothing at all… just a Tuesday, and it hits anyway. Grief doesn’t run on a schedule. I’ve stopped expecting it to.

For the first time in a long time, I feel something else creeping in alongside the fog and the grief. Clarity. A little bit of my own dreams coming back into focus. Different but there again.

I’m starting to think about my future again. Not close. Not soon. I’m committed to staying with dad for as long as he needs me, and that’s not changing. But somewhere down the road, there’s a version of my life waiting for me again.

And just being able to see that far ahead… after everything… that feels like hope.

by Hope

Some weeks life just… piles up. That’s where I am right now.

Job applications. Family meetings about mom’s estate. Taking over dad’s bills. Planning one more road trip with him. Leading a small group on Saturdays through my church. And juggling an ever changing roster of clients and projects. All at once.

So let’s talk money. Because every single one of these things touches it.

The job hunt is still on.

I’m still sending out applications. Still doing interviews. Still waiting to hear back more than I’d like. It’s slow. It’s a little discouraging some days. But I keep showing up to it, because income is income, and right now I need every bit I can bring in.

I’m grateful for the clients who keep coming back.

This is the part I don’t say out loud enough. My long time clients… the ones who’ve known me for years… they keep coming back to me. Some months it’s only 2 hours a week. Other months it jumps up to 20 hours. It’s not steady. It’s not big. But it’s paying the bills and helping me continue to save.

That kind of loyalty is its own kind of income. Not just dollars. Trust, too. I don’t take it for granted.

Estate planning.

We sat down this past weekend as a family about mom’s estate.

That was a hard conversation. Not because anyone was fighting. Just because talking about what’s left behind… and what dad wants for his own future… makes everything feel real in a way it wasn’t before.

Meeting table covered with papers, computers, glasses of tea — Image by StartupStockPhotos from Pixabay

We didn’t solve it all in one sitting. Nobody does. But we got some things written down. Recorded the whole conversation so there is no discrepancy in what was said and what someone heard. Some decisions were made. That matters more than I expected it to.

I’m the one paying dad’s bills now.

This one snuck up on me. One month I was just helping him check a statement. Now I’m the one logging in, setting up autopay, watching the due dates. It’s a lot of responsibility. It’s also a way of loving him, if that makes sense. Paying attention to his money is paying attention to him.

He agreed that he needs the financial oversight now. All the siblings have a few of it. And my brother who works in finance will be providing oversight and advice on investments…working with dad, not me. I’m just responsible for the day to day bill and documentation. That’s a good thing, even when it’s tiring.

Road tripping with dad.

We’re planning a road trip. His last high school reunion.

His class decided to retire the reunion after this year because the class itself is done gathering. So this is the last one. Ever.

We are going to stop along the way and see his old friends, his sister, etc. After the 9 years he’s dedicated to taking care of mom, this is his freedom flight. And he’s looking forward to it, and dreading it, all at the same time.

Here’s the thing though. Dad is paying for this trip. Every dollar of it. Gas, hotel, meals, all of it comes out of his pocket, not mine. My job is different. His eye doctor gave him a firm warning a while back. No long drives. Definitely no driving at night.

So I’m the driver. And the support in case he gets sick or has pain (an all too common occurence these days.) I’m there so he can just sit back, watch the miles go by, and get to see his old classmates one more time without worrying about the road himself. That’s my part in this. Not the money. The miles.

And I’m still teaching.

Small groups. Church. No paycheck attached to any of it. But it fills me up in a way a paycheck can’t. It reminds me that not everything I give my time to has to show up on a bank statement to count.

Here’s what I keep coming back to.

Money isn’t just numbers on a screen right now. It’s dad’s independence. It’s honoring mom. It’s one more trip with my father while he can still make the drive, even if someone else has to be behind the wheel. It’s showing up for people at church even when my own bank account is stretched thin. And it’s remembering that a client who keeps coming back, even for just a couple hours some weeks, is a gift I shouldn’t rush past.

I don’t have this all figured out. But I’m watching every dollar closer than I ever have. Because right now, every dollar is doing something that actually matters.

Blogging Away Debt Blogging Away Debt follows real people on their journey to debt freedom — with tips on the debt snowball, budgeting, cutting expenses, and staying motivated.

Grieving Alongside My Dad, While Sorting Through What’s Left